


in the gold of morning

by cactuslesbian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Sasha James, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, MAG 132 but more dykery, Spoilers for MAG 161, making it clear that this isn't a cheating fic or w/e they all have 2 hands and are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactuslesbian/pseuds/cactuslesbian
Summary: “I was going to kill you,” Daisy whispers. Her voice is strained and barely audible; the admission doesn’t sound so much like guilt as it does her simply getting the truth off her chest.Sasha spits some dirt from her mouth, reaches in the dark for Daisy’s hand. She catches the calloused tips of the woman’s fingers, cold and clammy. But Sasha forces her arm out further, stretches until she can better wrap her hand around Daisy’s who clings to her hand in a grip so tight it hurts. The archivist can't bring herself to mind.“I figured. When you dragged me to the woods and all.”
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, alice "daisy" tonner/sasha james, basira hussain/alice"daisy" tonner/sasha james
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	in the gold of morning

**Author's Note:**

> im just a lesbian. thats it. i cannot change these

“I was going to kill you,” Daisy whispers. Her voice is strained and barely audible; the admission doesn’t sound so much like guilt as it does her simply getting the truth off her chest.

Sasha spits some dirt from her mouth, reaches in the dark for Daisy’s hand. She catches the calloused tips of the woman’s fingers, cold and clammy. But Sasha forces her arm out further, stretches until she can better wrap her hand around Daisy’s who clings to her hand in a grip so tight it hurts. The archivist can't bring herself to mind.

“I figured. When you dragged me to the woods and all.”

“No, after the unknowing.” The grip on her hand only wavers for a moment. “I was going to kill you.”

“...oh.” 

“I realized you were in my dreams. Of the coffin. And I thought for the longest time you were just there because- because I saw you every day, because I hated you. But then in one of them you were wearing- you were wearing a different shirt, not your style. But then, but then you came from the states and guess what you were wearing.”

“Yeah,” Sasha breathes. She still has the shirt somewhere. An old faded thing she borrowed ( ~~or, rather stole~~ ) from Julia. Too big, little flecks of blood on the washed-out grey collar, words too faded to make out. A stark change from her usual crisp blouses and jumpers. “That’s probably- that’s probably fair.”

“I thought- I knew - you were a monster. That you had to die. As soon as it was safe. Never mind Elias, and his… insurance.” a pause, “I don’t. I don’t dream down here. I don’t know if I want to kill you, anymore, Sasha.” 

“Well that’s good at least” Silver linings and all that. “You- you should know, you were right. I’m not human. Not anymore.” 

Sasha can hear Daisy letting out a short huff that seems almost like a resigned sigh, or maybe a laugh. It’s hard to tell, hard to breathe. “I don’t really care at the moment.”

“We’re going to get out.” Sasha promises. The words just tumble from her lips before she can ponder the consequences of making a promise she may not be able to keep. 

“We can’t get out.” Daisy’s voice breaks.

“We will.” 

And then the buried begins to quake and Sasha screams as Daisy whispers an apology.

___

  
  


The two of them stumble out of the coffin, Daisy’s hand still wrapped tight around Sasha’s. Paper flutters as they step out and Sasha stares at photograph upon photograph littered around the coffin like an offering. 

“They’re my pictures-” Sasha says numbly, 

Basira slams the door open, fury in her eyes, “What were you-”

And then she freezes, eyes wide at the sight of Daisy. She’s dirty, thinner, her hair has grown past her shoulders, but she’s alive and staring at Basira as though she’s sunlight, water, air. 

“Hi,” Daisy says, softly. 

Basira closes the space between them in a moment, wrapping the two of them in a tight hug, whispering “Oh my god” over and over into Sasha’s hair. None of them want to let go, and soon they’ve settled on their knees, holding onto each other whispering assurances, thanks, and quiet nothings.

___

  
  


Sasha still has a scar on the side of her temple from where Daisy held a still smoking gun to her head and seared the skin and some of the hair. When they detangle their limbs from each other and try to compose themselves, Sasha wanders into one of the bathrooms and starts trying to get the dirt out of her hair, out from under her fingernails. But her eyes keep drifting back to that scar.

Sasha has never been a vain woman by any means, but she can’t help but feel just a little relieved that the buried will have only marked her in the form of scrapes and bruises that will fade in time. She’s got enough scars to last a lifetime. 

She’s washing her hands a third time when Daisy stumbles into the bathroom arm slung over Basira’s shoulders. Her legs are still stiff and in atrophy, only barely usable. Sasha catches her other arm and drapes it around her shoulder, helping her to the counter so she can sit. 

“Basira has to check something out.” Daisy says in way of explanation. “I didn’t... I didn’t want to be alone. Not right now.”

Basira’s face makes it clear that she doesn’t want to leave. She desperately wants to stay, wants to continue to be around Daisy. But her lead will not wait. “You two going to be alright?”

Sasha nods and Daisy gives Basira’s hand a gentle squeeze, “go, I’ll be fine,”

She can see Basira’s hand twitch around Daisy’s, but she reluctantly lets go. 

“I’ll help her get cleaned up.” Sasha assures. “I even have some clothes she can borrow.” 

Daisy looks a shadow of her usual self, smaller, softer almost. Her features are rounder and less pointed than Sasha remembers, even with the sunken eyes. She leans against the mirror with her eyes half lidded and tired. New clothes are going to be needed; Daisy’s kevlar vest is practically ribbons, and every bit of fabric that isn’t torn is muted with dirt and grime.

“Scissors.” Daisy says softly, cutting through the silence. “Can you get me scissors?”

She’s holding a strand of her hair and it’s longer than Sasha’s ever seen. Daisy had always worn her hair neat and short, the longest she’d ever seen it was just before the Unknowing, when her russet-colored hair curled just a little by her ears. Now it reaches the middle of her back, tumbling over her shoulder.

When Sasha returns with the scissors and a brush, she can’t help but note aloud, “I didn’t know your hair was curly,”

“Yeah, I always used to love my curls as a kid, but... long hair is a pain.” Daisy sounds faintly amused but her grip on the scissors tremor, the muscles weak from disuse. 

“Let me,” 

Sasha takes the scissors in one hand and the brush in the other. Slowly she works out the tangles and gently teases out the matts that have grown, wipes the dust from the counter top as she goes. After she’s methodically wrapped sections of Daisy’s hair with rubber bands, she cuts.

“You’re good at this.” Daisy says as Sasha sets the now severed sections on the counter.

Sasha can’t help but smile a little. The last of the sections is gone and now she just needs to even up the rest. “I cut my own hair all through university. Dyed it too. You should have seen me; there was a year when my hair was all blue.”

Daisy lets out a breathy but genuine laugh and Sasha realizes it’s the first time she’s ever heard that from her. 

It’s a lovely sound.

Sasha half carries her to the shower down in artifact storage. It's only really meant to be used for emergencies, but what's Elias going to do? Fire her? The Archivist is all but living in the building. 

She carefully peels Daisy's ruined clothing off, both of them seated on the cool tile floor. Daisy doesn't seem to mind being naked, just the helplessness and the weakness that keeps her arms and legs barely usable. Sasha makes the decision to take her own clothing off as well. It will be easier to wipe the grime and the dirt away if she's in there with her. More practical, too, as she still feels the dirt.

Sasha massages shampoo into Daisy's scalp and scrubs at her shoulders with the washcloth. She wipes and lathers and rinses the dirt away until she water runs clear and the room no longer smells like earth, just the faint lavender of the body wash and the coconut shampoo.

“Thank you, Sasha.” Daisy mumbles as the other woman towels her hair dry. 

A glance at her watch on top of her neatly folded clothes tells Sasha morning has arrived. She decides that she’s going to walk Daisy out to the steps so they can watch the sun together.

“Of course,”

**Author's Note:**

> anyway, sarchivist is a bisexual chad.
> 
> I tried not to make the buried scenes a shot for shot remake and definitely wanted sasha's anchor to be different than Jon's. In her case it's photographs. In the quieter moments, Sasha will take so many pictures, just because. 
> 
> Martin is still the one who leaves them on the coffin. He's only got one living friend left and he's not losing her.


End file.
